


Downpour

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-02
Updated: 2004-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Re-submitted for formatting problems.<br/>This is all Lex got. He dreamed of making love to Clark; he ended up fucking Superman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downpour

## Downpour

by Euphony

[]()

* * *

For Mkitty3- Vidder. Correspondent. Friend. 

* * *

"It's going to come down to one of us killing the other." 

His voice was calm, factual. The rain bit viciously into the exposed skin of Lex's scalp and hand, its violence willing him to grip the damp ebony hair all the more tightly. He watched in fascination at the glow of the meteor rock on his finger pulsating like a dying star, watched the man before him writhe in exquisite anguish feeling somehow unsatisfied with the indirectness by pain he was inflicting. He yanked the head back hard, savouring the audible whip of wet locks against slick, shining skin, eliciting a sharp gasp from the figure below him. He glared down at the contorted face that miraculously still managed to radiate that smug self-righteous Lex had come to loathe more than he ever felt possible. Still panting slightly, he smiled with the deep satisfaction of a man about to achieve a long-time goal, a smile showing few teeth and even less joy. Narrowing his gaze, appraising the shuddering form locked in this kryptonite-clad grasp. Just as he was considering how the final play was to go, his final victory--checkmate--green eyes opened wide, sparking to life like the stone in his ring, radiating a phosphorescent light. Lex would feel infinitely more comfortable if he could attribute it to the reflected glow of the kryptonite. But that was not the light he was seeing. No... he was seeing a light that hadn't grace his field of vision in years... What he was seeing now was an illusion perpetuated by those normally immaculately groomed strands, now dishevelled, matted wetly above the otherworldly stare. This was the face of a human being, no supercilious superhero hypocrite. This was the drenched and breathless creature he had seen for the first time on a riverbank, breathing life into him. 

Clark. Unmistakably, he was looking at Clark. It was not the fact that Clark shared an identity with this sanctimonious alien prick that caught him off-guard. He had known of Clark's metamorphosis for some time. No. It was that simple and surprising fact that Clark Kent still existed. That this Clark--the Smallville farm boy--even survived the genesis of the spandex-clad, platitude-spouting "hero". And yet, it was unquestionable. Clark. Name the apparition and it will be forced to haunt someone else. 

Lex's expression darkened as he considered this new development. With a disgust directed more towards himself than the other man, he tossed Clark's limp body to the wet concrete and let out a low frustrated growl. This sudden resurrection was about as welcome as with his father had somehow crawled his way out of whatever private room in hell his billions managed to secure him for a little heart-to-heart with his son. In fact, the old bastard's rotting corpse might have done wonders to improve his temperament. But this... Goddamn, Clark Kent. Had to ruin everything. 

Lex ripped of his ring and threw it out into the empty lot. Eyes never leaving Lex's face, Clark panted with grateful relief, making Lex's jaw clench unconsciously in a way that used to be reserved exclusively for his father. He wanted nothing more than to smash Clark's beautiful face in, yelling every curse he could think of. Clark-fucking-Kent, waiting for him to make the next move. To say something. Lex wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. He turned and walked into the abandoned warehouse, seeking shelter from rain and memories. 

God, he was soaked. Funny how you don't notice such things when you're poised to deal the final blow in a long-fought battle. Silk clung to his pale skin that formed gooseflesh in the frigid cold. He surveyed the interior with little interest, but a habitual and compulsive need to be aware of his surroundings. It was a LuthorCorp warehouse. One of the many useless pieces of property that made up his rather substantial holdings in Metropolis. A thin layer of dust coated the floor like skin. Old crates lined the walls giving the place a feel of slow decay. It smelled of dirt, sweat, and fatigue. 

He did not need to turn in order to sense the other man's approach. Despite his defiance of gravity, and all known physical laws, Clark lacked Lex's sense of stealth and grace. His boots hit the cement with an audible thud that echoed in the emptiness. 

"Luthor", spoken completely tonelessly. What was that? The answer to a question? A statement of fact? Luthor. It had never been in debate. 

"Yes, Clark?" He tried for conversational, and was disturbed by how familiar the words were on his lips. As if this were ten years ago, and Clark was just stopping by his office to chat. 

"Lex", Clark tried again. Giving in to the other man's deliberate casualness. Probably feeling a similar sense of deja-vu. 

His name. For that, Lex would turn. 

"It's been a long time since you called me that", he said with a measured coldness. After all, it was factually accurate. Clark didn't appear to have a response to that. Or perhaps he was just considering the weight of that statement. 

"What do you want, Clark?" he asked. He was aiming for irritation, though to his ears it fell somewhere between bitter and tired. Those marks were harder to miss these days. 

"I could ask you the same thing", Clark replied simply. And Lex let out a low laugh, verging on a scoff. Yes, there it was again. Bitter and tired. 

"You were never one for answering questions." 

Clark tilted his head in such a way that he resembled a dog trying to figured out his master's command. In another life Lex would have found it adorable. As it stood, he resented the lingering feelings of affection it brought to the surface of his drenched skin. Clark seemed to have decided against taking the bait. So different, this Clark. The differences were comforting. They allowed Lex to keep the dead buried. 

"Why?" It seemed ridiculously unfair to Lex that Clark could continually get away with asking questions while leaving all of Lex's unanswered, lingering in the air like dust particles dancing in the filtered light. They say dust is dead skin, bits of ourselves we leave behind. 

"Why what, Clark?" Lex always liked saying his name. It made him real, tangible. It gave him the one concrete thing he had on Clark. For once Lex's question was not a form of avoidance. The question could go at least two distinct ways, and one had to know the question in order to develop the proper tactic for not answering. 

"Why do you hate?" Knife to bone. He was really cutting straight to the heart of it now, wasn't he? 

"Ah... a metaphysical question. I never had you pegged for a philosopher." Tactic number one, the sardonic jab. Clark took a few tentative steps towards him. 

"Don't." 

"Clark, Clark... I admire your economy of language, but it lacks a certain clarity. How do you ever function as a journalist?" Tactic two, changing the subject. Clark was getting dangerously close to being in Lex's personal space. Lex did not enjoy having his personal space violated. 

"You haven't answered my question." Brilliant. How very fucking observant. 

"How very fucking observant." Tactic three, stall. One more step, and Clark was now alarming close to Lex, forcing him to take a step back and leaving him acutely aware how close he had been standing to the wall. 

"Why do you hate me?" Something in Clark's eyes caught Lex's attention. He knew that look. He had seen it in the eyes of every businessman whose company he had bankrupted. Every simpering underling who thought to cross him. In his father's eyes, right before the bullet passed between them. Desperation. "I was your friend, Lex." 

At this, Lex just had to laugh. He laughed darkly and with honest enjoyment at Clark's delusions. Clark flinched. Lex's laugh was the sound of kryptonite. But he stepped closer to Lex, forcing him back until he was almost pressed to the wall. "Why, Lex? Why?" he was practically yelling, and so it startled Lex to have him suddenly drop to a near whisper, searching his face for the answer, "Because I couldn't save you?" 

Lex stopped laughing abruptly. The silence was somehow worse. He met Clark's pleading stare with a look of rare but sincere confusion, trying to process the last question. Because I couldn't save you? When he answered it was with a raw honesty that no calculated insult could have matched for devastating effect. 

"Because you could have." 

Lex had a single moment to relish the wound as Clark's face shattered like an eggshell, a rare moment of triumph over the other man, before lights danced before his eyes as he was shoved hard against the concrete wall. 

"Go to hell, Luthor." 

Lex reached up to wipe the blood from his lip. He had bitten it hard on impact. "I never presumed to be going anywhere else." 

Clark's eyes shone with tears. For all he had been through, he still looked so innocent to Lex. Much older now than Lex had been when they first met, he was quite sure he had never been this young. This nave. God, Clark was beautiful, even standing in the wreckage of crumbling idealism. Lex's gaze drifted from shining eyes to the wet lips that rainwater still clung to. Lex understands those drops. Feels a kinship with them. He can remember countless times looking at those lips wanting to touch and taste. Wanting to know that mouth. He had spent countless nights thinking of Clark's mouth, hand on his own cock pumping slowly, thinking of the sweetness of Clark Kent's mouth. Beautiful. Still beautiful. 

Clark was still holding Lex shoved up against the wall, still standing uncomfortably close. Especially since Lex was getting hard just think of the fantasy of Clark Kent. He really didn't need Clark pressed up against him right now. Clark, Clark... still such a goddamn tea-- 

His thought was broken by the painful crack of his skull against the wall. Again. Lex could feel the warm trickle of blood on his neck. He could also feel the source of the blow, Clark's lips had smashed into his with the force roughly equivalent of a freight train. Ok then. Not such a tease. 

Lex could hardly move his lips under the bruising pressure of Clark's mouth, desperate and insistent. Lex managed to part his lips just enough to allow a tongue to force itself invasively inside his mouth. He responded in kind, matching Clark's tongue, stroking along Clark's mouth. This was a surprising development, yes. But a good businessman learns to role with the punches. As the pressure of Clark's lips receded slightly, the new and entirely welcome pressure of Clark's body leaning into his, pinning him against the wall, took over. Spandex. Lex had never been a big fan, but he could feel every inch of Clark's hard body against him in exquisite detail. He took special note of Clark's erection pressing into his hip. Oh yes... spandex was a good thing. 

He didn't know what had brought on this sudden assault. Nor did he care, at the moment. Clark's body was warmth against his shivering flesh, and the heat filled what little space existed between their two bodies. He couldn't get close enough. Like Xeno's paradox there was always halfway left. Even as their bodies rubbed together with the friction of damp fabric, Lex wanted more. Wanted it all. Oh god... he needed to look. Needed to see. He broke off the kiss abruptly to spare a glance at Clark's gorgeously hard cock straining against its spandex prison. He found the muscles in his jaw went completely slack, and all he could do is stare, open-mouthed, and Clark's crotch. How very criminal to keep all that hidden. Oh no... he was right the first time...spandex was a very evil thing. 

Clark was clawing at his collar, kissing his neck (if something so aggressive could rightly be called kissing). Lex was sure those too sharp incisors would draw blood if he bit any harder. Just another sign of how truly fucked up Lex was, the pain was the biggest turn-on of all. He groaned under Clark's teeth, his touch. Clark's hands were roaming down his thighs. Soft huffs of breath indicated that he approved of what he found. 

Lex decided to occupy his own hands. Like a typical Luthor, he went right for what he wanted, grabbing Clark's erection, fingers working madly against the spandex. He had to get Clark naked immediately. 

"How do you get out of that fucking suit?" he demanded breathlessly. He had waited for a long time to have Clark like this. Perhaps since the first moment he had opened his eyes to see Clark kneeling over him. He didn't have a lot of patience left to work with. Fortunately, Clark wasted no time is pulling off the spandex armour. He tossed the still soaked garment onto the floor and stood waiting. 

Clark's skin shone with the damp sheen of rainwater (or was it sweat?), heavy locks falling across his eyes like some image of a Greek god. Or David carved of gleaming marble, broad-shoulders and chiselled features. The statue come to life, right down to the absurdly large hands. Lex desperately wanted them around his cock. 

Lex pulled the naked body towards him for another vicious kiss, hands discovering the feel of Clark's gorgeously toned ass and thighs. He started licking and biting his way down Clark's chest. He tasted like rain and salt. He took one nipple between his teeth and bit mercilessly, not that it could hurt him. Nothing he could do would hurt Clark. That was somehow both a relief and a disappointment, though Lex didn't dwell on either feeling for too long. Life had thrown a lot of ambiguity his way. Like, for example, desperately wanting to fuck your sworn enemy. 

Clark was tearing at his shirt, and Lex obliged by removing it before it could be shredded by Clark's impatient hands. It clung wetly to his skin in a way that did not fail to evade Clark's notice. Lex's skin, perfectly smooth and white as ivory, relieved unanticipated muscles that rippled as he moved like bodies under bed sheets. Clark's already hard cock jumped with ever increasing interest. 

Lex was taking his time licking down Clark's body, tracing the patterns of his abs and the sharply defined dip at his hips. Lex worked his talented tongue along the groove, staying a calculated distance from the throbbing erection. It was beginning to look near painful, which Lex enjoyed immensely, not about to give in until he heard the words. Heard Clark beg for it. 

"Please" Clark grasped. And that was all he needed. 

Lex licked up the length of Clark's shaft slowly, drawing it out. Making him need. Making them both need. When he finally took Clark's cock into his mouth it was with the smooth, fluid motion of someone who had had substantial practice. What did that mean, anyway? Practice. Had all his experiences been practice for this, the real event? It seemed to him even now he had waited half his life to have Clark's cock in his mouth. 

Lex took the entire length into his mouth, rubbing his tongue along the vein underneath as he head slid all the way to the back of his throat. Swallowing gently for suction and to keep from gagging, and digging finger hard into the musculature of Clark's ass and thighs, he continued to move his head, sliding the cock in and out of his mouth. God, Clark tasted good. 

Clark groaned audibly, and grabbing the back of Lex's bruised and bloodied head began thrusting into his mouth with increased vigor, trying to go deeper into the slick wet heat of Lex's mouth. Lex's could taste the pre-cum on the back of his tongue. Clark was close. His head thrown back, eyes closed. So close... 

Which was exactly why Lex pulled away, denying him the release. Clark let out a cry of protest, though Lex knew damn well he was out-powered. He could not have pulled away if Clark didn't want him too. Clark Kent. He just got upgraded from tease to masochist. 

"On the ground", Lex ordered with a tone of authority that would make anyone think he was the invulnerable one. It was certainly enough for Clark, who sat on the dirty concrete in sex-dazed obedience. Lex stood above him, undoing his belt and slipping off immaculately tailored pants. He continued to drink Clark in, standing dominantly above the other man. Clark looked at him with the same appraisal. Lex had a beautiful body. Not as bulky as Clark's but well-defined. More so than back in Smallville when they were still friends, yet possessing the same sleek grace. 

Lex contemplated briefly the list of things he wanted to do to Clark. It was a long list. He dropped to his knees so that he was eye-level. He shoved Clark onto the ground with the weight of his own body, sliding bare thigh against bare thigh, feeling the rub of warm skin and tensing muscles. Hard cocks pressed against each other's bodies demandingly. Lex ran his hand down Clark's side, digging in well-manicured nails to trace a line down to his well-muscled ass. Lex leaned in to bite Clark's lower lip, drawing it out. Tasting it. Clark whimpered, and rubbed his body insistently against Lex. 

Lex released Clark's lip, but not his gaze. Never breaking eye contact, he inserted two long fingers into his own mouth, coating them with spit. Lex retreated seductively down Clark's body, never breaking the contact of skin on skin. Clark watched him with raw need as Lex sunk his teeth into the invulnerable flesh of Clark's inner thigh while he pushed both fingers into the tightness of Clark's ass. Clark writhed beneath him, around him. Lex moved his fingers in and out, stroking at the prostate, forcing Clark into every kind of undignified moan possible. He needed those moans. Wanted was to hear Clark curse. He wanted to hear that mouth that promoted family values and the American way cry out every foul word in the English language while his enemy fucked him.He would make Clark make those sounds. 

Lex pulled his fingers out abruptly, and was rewarded by a small whimper. He climbed on top of Clark, spreading his legs further. Lex wanted to watch Clark as he fucked him, to see himself in Clark's eyes while Lex was in his body. He thrust his way into that body with one fluid motion, all the way in. Clark was warm and tight around him. So good he could live there. Die there. Be in Clark forever. God, how many times had he dreamed of this? Came thinking of Clark's body beneath him? And yet, it was never this he dreamed of. It was the young farmboy he had wanted--innocent and trusting--trusting him. Trusting him with everything. His secrets, his body. He began moving in and out of Clark in deep, angry thrusts. This was what he got. This is all he got. He had dreamed of making love to Clark; he ended up fucking Superman. He thrust harder and faster, the sweat building between their bodies, combining with the dampness of the rain and making their bodies glide liquid against each other. 

Lex used one arm to claw into Clark's thigh for friction, Clark's hands grabbing at his waist, urging him deeper, faster. Lex watched the body rocking under him, watched the mouth part in silent moans and pants, watched the eyes glaze and grow distant. Lex managed a low, raspy whisper. "Cum for me, Clark." 

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, yes. Lex!" Clark gasped, as he came hot between them, coating their stomachs. That was all Lex needed. He buried himself in Clark, crying out his name. He collapsed into Clark, allowing himself a minute to lie there on top of Clark, still inside him. A moment to live in the fantasy, the perfect, unbroken fantasy of Clark Kent the friend and lover, before facing the reality of the stranger lying under him. No, not even stranger. Enemy. 

But it could not last. The fantasy could not be held. It slipped through his hands with the persistence and inevitability of sand grasped too tightly. Lex dislodged himself from the beautifully scandalized man beneath him. God, so beautiful. Still so beautiful. Always. 

He lifted himself onto shaky legs, looking around for the remnants of his clothing. Spotting his pants over by the crates, he made his way to get dressed before he could think too long or hard about what had just taken place. He could feel his muscles were starting to tighten and ache in protest at the earlier exertion. The fighting, not the fucking. Lex's body never protested to sex. 

But he didn't have a chance to retrieve his wayward garment, because Clark was suddenly at his back, pressed against him and quite obvious ready for more and so soon. Wasn't that just super? Clark pulled Lex's body hard against his own, running hands down Lex's chest, down his hips, grabbing cock firmly and demandingly. Lex could already feel himself getting hard again. Already. Too soon. Fuck. Lex's body never protested to sex. 

Clark bit down roughly on Lex's shoulder blade. "Where do you think you're going? You think that's it?" Clark pushed Lex violently into the piled crates. "I'm not done with you yet." 

Lex was in no position to argue, quite literally, as he was being bent over a crate by a man with a few inches and superhuman strength on him. He decided, quite practically, he thought, to acquiesce. 

Clark, hand slick from the cum slicked his stomach, coated his cock in preparation. That was, in fact, all the preparation he gave before thrusting violently into Lex. Lex cried out. He couldn't see, but he imagined Clark took some kind of satisfaction from that. 

"Christ, Clark. I'm not fucking invulnerable", he hissed. 

Clark didn't respond to the accusation. He slammed his hands down on top of Lex's, pinning him to the crate. He pulled out slowly before thrusting back in sharply with a low, sex-soaked grunt. He didn't know whether it was the painful stretch of his body around Clark's cock, or that animal grunt but Lex was completely hard again. With that, he suddenly realised his unfortunate predicament of having his hands firmly restrained against crate. Goddamn bastard. 

Clark began thrusting in earnest, now. Hard and fast, slamming his body into Lex's. Lex's erection ache from lack of contact, but he knew the rules of the game. No hands. Fine. He pushed back into Clark, matching his movement, letting himself feel the white-hot current of pleasure as he forced Clark to pound just the right spot. Clark was grunting again. Or maybe that was him. He felt splinters force their way into his palms. Clark's grip only tightened as his pace increased. 

"Oh God. Fuck." Lex was fairly certain it was him saying those words but he stopped caring as he came with blinding intensity. His body was about ready to collapse from the exertion, but Clark still had him pinned. His body slackened as Clark gave a few final thrusts, and came with desperate groan. For a moment they just stay like that, supported against the crate, connected and utterly spent. 

When Clark finally pulled out of Lex's body it was with the same violence he entered it, still panting slightly from the exertion. He walked over to his discarded uniform and began the process of dressing. Lex reached for his own pants, pulling them on with considerably less effort. He never felt so much like a whore in his entire life. Of course, he didn't let Clark fuck him for money. For what, then? For what? 

Lex watched as he dressed, and Clark let him. Others might find the intensity of Lex's gaze disconcerting, but it had been years and Clark had gotten used to it. Lex hadn't looked at him that way in a long time. It wasn't a look of hate or adoration, it was the pained look of realisation. The last time Lex had looked at him that way was the day Lex figured it all out-all the lies. The day they had become enemies. By the time Clark got to the boots, Lex was no longer looking. He leaned against the crates Clark just had had him bent over, turned around so that he faced away from the door, his back to Clark. The pose was unmistakably hostile, but spoke more to Lex's vulnerability than his hatred. Knowing that made him hate Clark all the more. 

Lex listened to the sounds of Clark's footsteps retreating towards the door. The clicking of leather on cement ceased momentarily, and Lex could feel Clark-- no, Superman's eyes burning into him as unmistakably as if he had had the heat-vision turned on. But Lex refused to turn around to meet Superman's stare. He knew his eyes would betray more than he wanted to say, and he wouldn't give the self-righteous prick the satisfaction. So he just let Clark... Superman stand there staring. Get an eyeful, you fucking hypocrite. 

There was a long, heavy silence that stretched between the two of them in that moment. A hesitation before he finally spoke. "It's going to come down to one of us killing the other", he said simply and then the trademark whoosh, let Lex know he was gone. Lex turned it over in his head again and again and again. Looking for... what? Sadness? Regret? Whatever it was it was probably wishful thinking on his part. 

He grabbed his shirt, throwing it on casually as he walked back out into the rain. Ten years of rain, and no sign of letting up. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his ring sparkling green on the slick, wet pavement. He bent down to retrieve it, holding it up to what little light escaped the perpetual gloom of the Metropolis sky. Meteor rock. It was the beginning. He supposed it would be the end too. 

"Until death do us part", spoken rough and low. Bitter and tired. Always so damn bitter and too damn tired. He slipped on the ring and walked out into the storm. 

* * *

End 


End file.
